


The First

by mistyzeo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: The cocaine is an accident.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cycle 2, round 4 of thegameison_sh.

Sherlock smokes pot with Ned Elliott at Eton before he gets expelled, and again with James Thackeray at Harrow before he drops out, but he hates it both times. It makes him feel slow and tingly, like alcohol does, and he doesn’t like it when he knows he’s not using all of his faculties.  
  
University promises to be a challenge at first, but once he’s in the courses he’s meant to be taking for first-year requirements it all screeches to a halt. University is boring. The professors are tedious and the students are horrid, and there are not enough people in the town to keep him amused. It’s like being trapped inside a glass bubble, watching everything, knowing everything, and not being able to do anything with it.  
  
The cocaine is an accident, but a happy accident. Seb knows he’s bored out of his mind, already thinking of quitting while he’s ahead in his second year, and he takes him to a party off campus. He swears up and down Sherlock will have a good time, which Sherlock doubts extremely, since Seb’s idea of a good time is a public school girl with huge tits sitting on his lap and feeding him jammy dodgers. It’s hideous.  
  
Seb introduces him to a friend he calls Mallet, and Mallet laughs and holds out his hand. “Matt Allen, he means,” Mallet— Matt— says, and his hand lingers in Sherlock’s. His eyes are bright in the dimly lit room, and Sherlock can feel his pulse hammering in his wrist. “Wanna come take a hit, gorgeous?”  
  
Sherlock follows him, curious for once in what feels like forever, and accepts the rolled up fiver. The cocaine is in lines on a mirror, like in the films, and Sherlock laughs before he gets on his knees.  
  
It starts that time like it does every time after. It feels like nothing at first, and then Sherlock realizes he can feel his heart rate going up. His face flushes and his internal temperature increases, and there’s a moment of fear that his heart will keep going and going until it explodes right out of his chest. Then the plateau, and the euphoric knowledge that he’ll be fine. The room glows a little at the edges, and Sherlock starts telling people about themselves. They laugh. They laugh! They don’t contort their faces in displeasure or tell him to sod off. They don’t look uncomfortable or angry, they just look amused, happy, asking him for more. _Do it again. Do me._ He could go all night.  
  
His nose starts to ache after the fourth line, and his hand comes away bloody. There’s the spike of fear, and coupled with the blood Sherlock makes a gasping run for the bathroom. He fills the sink with water and stares himself in the face while the blood runs over his lips and down his chin. The metallic taste of it is strange, unpleasant, and when he licks his lips his tongue feels numb. The cocaine is good, better than good, but this. Sherlock doesn’t like this. Other people’s blood he couldn’t care less about, but his own? He needs it.  
  
He washes his face until the bleeding stops, and his shirt is soaked with water. Matt is waiting outside to clap him on the shoulder, the warmth of his hand bleeding through Sherlock’s damp shirt.  
  
“You all right?”  
  
“Fine,” Sherlock says. “Is there another way to take it?”  
  
“Blood make you uncomfortable?”  
  
“No,” Sherlock says, trying to feel irritated but too high to get anywhere close. Matt’s beautiful, and a little sparkly. “Don’t like the mess.”  
  
“You can smoke it,” Matt says slowly, thinking. Sherlock traces the line of his jaw with one finger, and Matt smiles.  
  
“Oh please,” Sherlock says.  
  
“Mix it with water and inject it?”  
  
“Water?” Sherlock says. “Surely saline would be the better choice. Putting water straight into your veins is just idiotic.”  
  
Matt bites the tip of his finger, and it sends a frission of pleasure through him.  
  
“You’re the chemist,” Matt says.  
  
“Saline it is,” Sherlock says, and kisses him.


End file.
